Page 26 of Duke of Wickedness
“If he was surprised,” the duke interrupted, still entirely unruffled, “it is because, as you can clearly see, there is no party tonight.”
“Well, yes, but I?—”
“And when I am entertaining, I am entertaining. When I am not, my house is my own. Private.”
“But surely you have guests,” she said.
“When I am entertaining,” he repeated.
“Oh.” A beat. “Do you—do you want me to go?”
This inspired the first bit of action from him thus far. He drained the last mouthful of his drink, then set the tumbler on a nearby table. Then, he stood and took three long steps until he was standing directly in front of Ariadne.
It took all her self-control not to retreat, but she had been embarrassed enough already this evening. Besides, doing that would put the door at her back. The last thing she needed was to be caged in by him.
Well, no, that actually sounded upsettingly appealing. But it would not help her think.
“What I want,” he said, still sounding so calm, so assured, “is to know why you came here tonight, Ariadne.”
Somehow, she knew that it wasn’t really a question. He knew. How could he not know?
His gaze bore into her, and she couldn’t hold it any longer. She let her eyes skitter away.
He took the opportunity to take a step closer.
“Say it, Ariadne.”
“I—”
“The anticipation is killing me,” he said. He bent forward, closer, closer, until his nose brushed against her cheek, then moved so that the glancing touch traveled down over her jaw, over the place where the pulse thrummed in her throat. “Say it, little bird.”
His breath coasted across her collarbone. She didn’t know how she was supposed to think, let alone talk.
“I want—” she said. “I want…”
“Yes?” he prodded.
“Teach me,” she said, the word a breathy moan. “Show me.Please.”
His response was his mouth on her throat, a hot, liquid pressure against that thrumming point in her neck. She dropped her head back; it landed against the door. When had she allowed herself to get cornered, despite her best intentions?
“Say it again,” he commanded, his lips a caress against her skin. He pulled back to look her in the eye, which she disliked, but at least he seemed not to like it any more than she did.
“I want this,” she repeated, and this time she didn’t let her gaze wander—she didn’t even want to. His intensity hadn’t lessened, but she found that she wanted to lose herself in it, not escape it. “I want you to show me—everything.”
No sooner had the words left her lips than he had pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss in the garden had felt consuming. This wasmore.
She could faintly taste scotch on his tongue as it danced against hers. She could smell the slightly woodsy hint of his aftershave on his cheek when she sucked in a breath. He was everywhere, everything, all of her senses at once. She wrapped her arm around his neck, pressing her chest against his.
She didn’t know if she could truly feel the thump of his heart, or if it was just her own pulse racing being reverberated back to her, but either way, it gave her the sense that he was all around her, inside her chest.
She gasped—or maybe he did.
He tilted their heads so that their mouths could slant more firmly together—or perhaps that was her.
It didn’t matter. They were moving together, as one, and it brought out a heat in her that was somehow even brighter than the feelings she’d brought forth in herself when she had used a far more intimate touch. If he could make her feel this warm and aware of her body—could make her so aware of every inch of herself just with his kiss, with his hands planted firmly on her hips—what could he do with his promises of more? What could he show her?
